


You Will Be The Death of Me

by TheSeaAtNight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Reluctant Mentorship, cannon typical child abuse, hatred to reluctant found family, writing style is inspired by terry pratchet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeaAtNight/pseuds/TheSeaAtNight
Summary: In which a plot is inspired by Despicable Me and Voldemort does not so much as mentor Harry but rather tries to get him to leave him alone.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort
Kudos: 15





	You Will Be The Death of Me

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 Authors notes: This story was originally from 2013 and was being posed on my fanfiction account. It’s a story that crosses my mind every so often and it’s a story that I both love and hate at times. I re-read it the other day and found myself still enjoying the idea, the writing style, and the thoughts behind it but at the same time I am no longer part of this fandom and don’t have much of a spark for it as a whole any more. 
> 
> Still...the Harry Potter stories are one of the few stories I have found that I can explore this one very specific trope (I have no idea what it is called, reluctant mentorship?) and so, for that alone it still draws me in. 
> 
> I have no idea, exactly, what I am going to do with this yet or if I really am going to continue it, but I wanted to at least put it on Ao3 so it is here.
> 
> Enjoy. 

###  **PART 1: WO L'S OR HAN G '**

**Prologue**

Halloween; a Saturday

It was a wet and dreary night and three people had just died. Do not think for a moment that these two occurrences were in any way related, or that the rain had just decided to appear to make these passing more tragic. It didn't.

It had actually been raining on and off for the last two weeks and the forecast predicted that it would be continuing for the next two or three days depending on wind speeds. This was relatively common in the UK and no one blinks an eye at it. It should also be noted that this was the forecast for London and that although it was currently raining there, it had not so much as spilled a drop where the affronted three people had died.

So you see they were in no way related.

But even so, it was a wet and dreary night in a very specific part of London. An area where one could find the sorts of people you didn't want to meet alone at any point or place in your life and a place where you could find a lot of something you might desperately want if you were that sort of person. If you knew this part of London at all you would know where it started and where it ended and the one place that rested in the center of it all.

Wool's Orphanage.

Wool's Orphanage was a sad looking three story building on a desolate plot of land. The cast-iron gate that surrounded the building was rusted and no longer locked properly. The large brick wall that surrounded the land was falling apart and in some areas the wall had even been broken down to create rough doorways just big enough for, say, a child to get though. No one had bothered to repair any of the damage and the owners had long since stopped bothering with locking the gates anyway. No one was ever truly insane enough to want to go toward the building, much less break into it, and those trying to get out, well it was one less mouth to attempt to feed. 

Nothing had grown around the building for as long as anyone could remember and because of this, and the fact that it was currently raining, the dirt yard that usually surrounded the building had turned into a thick and sickly looking gray mud. The building itself was made of the same red brick of the surrounding wall and had become so dirty throughout the years due to coal smoke and general filth that it now looked almost black. It was only when wet that the red of the brick showed through, running lines of deep scarlet down the sides of the building making it look more like the structure was bleeding than anything else. It was too dark tonight to truly see this effect, but in the day light it was truly a terrifying sight.

There were a number of theories about the orphanage and the area around it. Most people thought that the scum that currently inhabited the area were old orphans from Wool's that grew up to be good for nothing. Some thought the orphanage itself was cursed and was, slowly, over time, draining everything decent and civilized around it. Another theory said that the orphanage was in fact a living entity that had forgotten it was never a house and was slowly feeding on all the good thoughts and memories of those who got near.

All three of these are true, though they are all a bit of a complicated tangle of cause and effect.

None of that really matters though; the only truly important thing to know about Wool's Orphanage was that it was an absolutely dreadful place to live.

And in four years' time someone very important was going to be living there.

* * *

Four years later; A Thursday

A small boy sat in the back of his uncle's car. This was his sixth Halloween and, following tradition, it was turning out to be terrible. Where most children were happily looking forward to dressing in ridiculous costumes and getting loads of candy, Harry, the small boy in the back of his uncle's car, was looking forward to being abandoned. Again.

He knew he should probably be happy with this development, he hated the Dursley's, but he had been told over and over how much worse orphanages were. The Dursley's were terrible as it was, he couldn't even imagine how bad this place would be.

"I picked out the absolute worst for you boy." His uncle said from the front seat. He smiled at Harry through the rearview mirror, it was terrifying and Harry desperately tried to disappear into the seats.

"I'm sure they will treat you just as you deserve, little freak." Harry swallowed and tried not to cry. He was a big boy now that he was five, he could go to school, and therefore he wasn't allowed to cry, not anymore.

So he sniffled and did his best to hide his fear as they pulled up in front of large cast iron gates.

* * *

One Year, Seven Months, and Seventeen Days Later; a Sunday

Voldemort looked down at the lifeless women on the floor. So pathetic really. A muggle born ministry worker with a large obsession with romance and still, even at thirty, acted like a thirteen year old girl. It was something that had made her all too easy to seduce, manipulate and control. The only complication had been the woman's magical abilities. They had been worryingly low from the start and he had been worried her magic wouldn't be enough to sustain him or act as a medium to bring him back. As it was he had managed, and though he was far weaker then he would have liked, he could still feel his own magic humming gently under his new skin. It would take a long while to bring it back to its former glory, but at the moment; time was all he had.

He may not be a patient man but he knew when it was in his best interest to wait.

"I had forgotten how young this piece of my soul was." he remarked off handedly as he looked down at his new body. He almost laughed when he noticed that his body had formed with his old clothing intact. His old school uniform brought back such bitter sweet memories he was almost tempted to keep them. It was a pointless fancy and one that he quickly squashed and disregarded, sentiment had never done a person any good.

"You are quite handsome at this age my lord, if it is not out of place to say. Though if you wish I will contact Severus and have him prepare an ageing potion for you." ah yes, Malfoy. He had almost forgotten he was there.

"Give me your arm Lucius," Voldemort instructed, not bothering to turn to the other or to address his offers. Much to Lucius's credit he didn't even flinch as he moved to present his right wrist to his Lord. The Dark Mark had disappeared about six years ago with his Lord's death, but now with his rebirth the Mark once again marred his skin. It was faint, proving that the Dark Lord was not yet back to his full power, but it was slowly growing darker with each minute that passed.

Presenting his arm to the younger looking man, he waited for the familiar burning sensation which would call all the other Death Eaters to his presence. His Lord's wand had been left in his care after the Dark Lord's death and now he watched as Voldemort took it back up. It glowed happily at being reunited with its master after so long and Voldemort seemed to almost return the sentiment. The moment didn't last long though as the wand tip was placed on the newly reawakened Dark Mark. The sharp burning pain was quick to follow but Lucius was surprised to find that instead of the Dark Mark becoming darker as he had expected it instead got lighter until it had completely disappeared.

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, not bothering to hide the confusion in his voice.

"Do not think me a fool Lucius," Voldemort said as he turned away from his servant again and started to strip out of his old school robes. "I may have been 'dead' for a while but I have managed to pay attention to the happenings of our world. The light side has grown in power since the end of the war," he stopped for a moment as he worked off his tie and placed it on his now folded robe. "Not to mention that they now have a lot more support from the 'neutrals' than before" he turned back to Lucius now dressed in only his white button down shirt, black pants and black dress shoes. He almost looked like he was getting ready to go on a date. Lucius would have laughed at that image if it wasn't for the intimidating look in the sixteen year olds eyes. They were blue, much to Lucius's surprise, though there were hints of the red they would one day become. 'No' Lucius had to remind himself 'not sixteen, no matter how young he looked this man was the Dark Lord and could kill him in a matter of seconds should he wish to.'

Voldemort smiled - if one could call that frightening up-turn of his Lord's lips a smile - as if he had read Lucius's thoughts. "No, right now I hold more power with the light side thinking I am still dead, and the longer I wait the more power they lose and the stronger I become. You have done me well today Lucius, but for now I expect you to keep my return a secret."

"Of course my Lord, as always I am your faithful servant." Lucius said automatically with a deep bow that caused the Dark Lord's smile to grow.

"I would expect nothing less," Voldemort hissed before turning to go, leaving Lucius alone in his study with the dead muggleborn, his now worthless diary, and a few other odds and ends. He had no doubts that Lucius would clean up the mess after him; after all it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

* * *

'Freak', that was all anyone seemed to call him. Sure Mrs. Palmer would sometimes call him Harry but that was only when she was mad at him. When she wasn't mad at him she pretended he didn't exist.

'He is nothing but a no good freak!' is what his uncle had told Mrs. Palmer when he had been brought here at the age of five. He didn't remember much about his uncle, but that memory stuck out. He had never seen his uncle so happy, a grotesque smile cutting its way across his large face, as he had been dragged to the front door of the orphanage. He remembered seeing the high stone walls with sharp barbs covering the tops, the dirt front yard with only a cracked sidewalk leading to a large wooden door and the Iron casting announcing that they had arrived at 'WO L'S OR HAN G '. The place seemed perpetually shadowed and everything colored in varying shades of gray. He had been frightened when his uncle had finally yelled that he had had enough and dragged him out of there house, but now seeing where his uncle was taking him became terrified, this place was a prison, he was going to be locked up and nothing was going to save him, no one was going to help him. It was at that moment that he realized that maybe something really was wrong with him.

Maybe he really was a freak.

"You bloody freak! Get back here!" he heard one of the boys chasing after him yell as he tore down the hall, his six year old (almost seven he often reminded himself longingly) legs moving as fast as they could. "You little thief! That's OUR ball! It was in our LOCKED room!" that was the other boy now, both of their footfalls seemed to get closer to him with each step. He was almost outside though; he could see the front door now! Just a bit more!

* * *

He would curse his own two feet if it wasn't for the fact that he needed them.

He had left the Malfoy Manor with very little idea of where to go next. He knew he could not return to any of his old haunts just yet, not until he knew which ones had been compromised and which could still be used. He also had no wish to go to the old Riddle Manner, knowing that though it was likely his best option, he still had no desire to ever see the place again. In truth it would probably be better for him to avoid magical London altogether, at least for a while longer, as much as that thought pained him.

Instead he had apparited himself into muggle London and allowed his feet to carry him at will while he thought and planned his next move. He hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings until he had found himself just outside a very familiar set of stone walls and large metal gate.

He glared angrily up at it.

Wool's Orphanage seemed to glare smugly back.

He wondered briefly why he hadn't destroyed the place years ago and what would happen if he set it on fire now. Would it really be worth the repercussions? For a moment he was sure it was. But then again Dumbledore, the bloody bastard, would probably put two and two together, get 6.8, and somehow that would lead directly back to him. Just like that his advantage would be gone. With a small huff of air he turned to walk away just as the front doors flew open and a young boy came toppling down the steps. He was sure that the boy would fall and crack his head open as he tried to regain his balance while still running, but somehow he managed to keep his knobby legs under him and keep moving.

"You freak! You can't get away just by going outside!" another boy yelled as two more boys came running out of the house.

"Ya, and don't try any of that fraky stuff's eitha' like disapearin to the roof!" now that caught Voldemort's attention and he watched the two boys chase after the younger, wondering if something truly would happen. It seemed, for a moment, that the messy looking younger boy was going to finally out run them and escape through one of the many holes in the surrounding wall. But, as such things often go with knobby little kids, his legs got tangled beneath him and he began to stumble. Feet left the ground quickly followed by a body hitting it and a large dust cloud quickly followed in the opposite direction. Voldemort thought, in the back of his mind, that this was quite unfortunate given the child's already filthy state of dress. The thought didn't last long for soon the other two boys were upon the smaller boy.

Voldemort hadn't even noticed the ball the smaller boy had been holding until it bounced out of the front gate and finally rolled to a stop at his feet.

He looked down at the simple blue ball, which looked like it could use a lot more air than was currently in it, while still listening to the boys in the yard. High pitched yells of 'thief' and 'freak' filled the air along with the smaller boy's sobs and screams of pain. The sounds began to mix quickly with his own memories, becoming almost a daydream - or perhaps nightmare was a better word. He could feel the blows upon his own skin; hear the other children laughing at him calling him a 'monster' and 'good-for-nothing'. He felt himself curl up into a protective ball, his forehead throbbing for some unknown reason, maybe he had hit it?

Then it stopped, or perhaps it had stopped a while ago, because suddenly he was looking at the two older boys standing in front of him on the other side of the rusted cast-iron gate. Both boys were remarkable only in the sense that they were completely unremarkable. They looked alike in the same way most orphans do, too big of cloths, too messy of hair, too thin, and really, a little 'too' much of everything.

They also had remarkably bad teeth. Voldemort only found this out as one of them started talking.

"Hey mister? You deft or somthin'? I said can we have our ball back?!" the oldest of the two scruffy boys asked, his two front teeth were missing, giving his speech a slurred and annoying quality. He watched them for a moment, taking in both of their appearances before he narrowed his eyes at them. They both took a quick step back in obvious fear as he bent down and grabbed the lost ball.

"I usually don't bother listening or tolerating worthless runts like you," He said as his face darkened and his eyes shone a bright red, a smile formed on his thin lips. "Thankfully for you I can't afford to kill you both right now, so I will just settle for keeping this'' he said as he held up the ball in front of them, his smile falling quickly into an angry snarl, "I suggest you leave now" he hissed at them, the sentence punctuated by the ball popping loudly in his hand.

He watched silently as both boys quickly scrambled away, losing himself once again to his memories. His fists clenched around the burst plastic in anger, wishing beyond anything that he could destroy this wretched place just as he had destroyed the ball. Perhaps a fire really wasn't that risky...

* * *

His head was burning, had he hit it at some point? He didn't think so, and besides it felt like the pain was coming from the old scar on his head. He flinched a bit as it started to get worse and, what was before a throbbing burn, became an angry stab.

Tears formed in his eyes as he tried to rub the pain away but it didn't seem to be doing much good. He decided that he should probably try to ignore it then since there really wasn't much else he could do. Ignoring pain is easier said than done of course, but it became a lot simpler when everyone else ignored your pain too.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, trying to keep them steady, as he rubbed his head angrily. His eyes turned to the rest of the garden - if one dead tree and lots of dead weeds could be called that - and tried to look around for the other boys, worried that they might come back to torture him a bit more. He didn't see any sign of the older boys though, had they already run off? He hadn't thought he had been on the ground that long! It was a bit disconcerting, or at least as disconcerting as any six-almost-seven year old can feel, which really wasn't much.

His scar gave another stab of pain which forced his head toward the front gate. The pain only got worse though as he turned toward it, causing water to fill his eyes again. He hated crying, most of the other boys just laughed when he cried. Usually he could force himself to stop, but this time his eyes just wouldn't listen.

It was about then that he noticed it, or he supposed him, and his scar seemed to only burn more as he looked at the man. Was he the reason he was in pain? But no, that couldn't be right; the man wasn't even looking at him, but instead seemed to be glaring angrily at the building. Harry knew that he probably shouldn't go anywhere near the man, Mrs. Palmer often told them that there were a lot of crazy people out there planning to kidnap kids and take them away. Thinking about that a little bit more, and wondering if 'kidnaping' was all that different from 'adoption' and whether or not it could really be any worse than Wool's. 

Harry made up his mind.

Making up your mind was another one of those things that is easier said than done, along with making pie and walking a dog. You would happily get started and already be on your way before you even realized you had gotten in way over your head and by that point there was no turning back.

Harry had already stumbled his way to the front gate before he realized that this, probably, was not his best idea.

* * *

Voldemort was vaguely aware of the fact that he has been standing around outside the orphanage for a bit too long and that the boys he had scared off were likely to show up again, this time with muggle adults. He wasn't in the mood to deal with angry muggle adults. He wasn't in much of a mood to deal with anyone anymore or really ever.

It was too bad, then, that people didn't seem to be getting the hint. Or at least little kids didn't seem to be.

"My head hurts" started the little kid who had now walked up to him on the other side of the gate. As a way to start a conversation, Voldemort considered, there were less annoying and indirect ways.

"You've likely hit it. You fell fairly hard." Voldemort answered, let it not be said that he couldn't pretend to be decent when times called for it. And if what he has heard earlier was true, it might be, if not important, then at least interesting to learn a little about the boy.

"It's not bleeding is it?" the boy said with a sharp wince and a couple of tears running out of his eyes. At that moment a line of blood did actually decide to start a trail down the boy's forehead.

"Yes," Voldemort said in a way that suggested it was a very boring thing to be happening. The boy rubbed his head at that, smearing the blood around and getting it in his hair, before looking at his hand.

"Oh" said the boy as he looked at the blood. He also made it sound like it was something boring and unimportant, quite a feat for a six year old in pain. He wiped the blood off on his trousers which just ended up with him getting dirt stuck on the blood on his hand. He then looked around himself as if he suddenly remembered something far more interesting.

"What happened to the ball?"

"How did you get on the roof?" Voldemort questioned instead of answering, he wasn't in the mood for any more worthless conversation.

The child looked up at him in surprise which quickly turned to embarrassment. "I didn't mean too" he answered quickly, not questioning how he knew, but then children were just like that. Just assumed those older than them already knew almost everything which was certainly helpful. "It just, well the others were...and I already hurt my knee, and I didn't really want to... And it...it just kinda happened!"

Annoyance was Voldemort’s predominant emotion at the boy's terrible speech and half-finished sentences; his mind was half way between wanting to lecture the child and half wanting to curse him. Both were appealing and both were, sadly, not an option. He took a deep breath to calm himself and to remind him why he had even bothered to continue this conversation in the first place. He couldn't be completely sure, but the boy's reply suggested that the incident had been due to accidental magic. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think that wizarding children were still being abandoned to muggle orphanages and left in the care of such vial creatures. There was little he could do for the child right now though, given his own situation, but he supposed a little magic might go a long way to helping the child understand that he was superior to those around him. Making his decision he held the lump of blue plastic that used to be a ball out to the kid.

Harry looked confused for a second before recognition crossed his face followed closely by sorrow at seeing it broken.

"Did you steal this?" Voldemort asked.

"Erm..." answered Harry, shuffling his feet in the dust and looking away. This was a far better confession than any yes would ever be.

"Here." Voldemort said placing the plastic into Harry's hand, "let me show you a trick." he smiled, it was a scary smile, one that, when Harry thought about it later, reminded him a bit of a snake. Harry's head was still throbbing though so he didn't really think about it much at all.

The man made an odd hand movement, one that, in any other circumstance meant 'bugger off' but in this case seemed less directed to Harry and more directed toward the lump of plastic in his hands.

He was about to ask what the man had done when the plastic began to re-inflate, and soon enough resolved itself into a ball once again, this time with the proper amount to air in it. Harry knew his mouth was open in a very shocked 'O' and his eyes were likely the same shape. He moved the ball around in his hands, throwing it up and catching it, and then bouncing it just to be sure. The ball was back to normal, even better than normal! Harry looked up to the man to thank him only to find that he was now briskly walking away.

"WAIT!" Harry yelled as he moved closer to the gate, contemplating if he should chase after the man. "Wait! What..." here he paused, he could ask any number of questions, there were thousands already dancing in his mind, but he had to think, to be clever, what was the most important thing for him to know?

"What...what is your name!?" he called after the man, hoping that he would get an answer. The man's steps faltered for a second and then came to a thoughtful stop. Silence flowed between them for a long while and Harry shifted nervously wondering if he had asked the wrong thing. "Tom" he finally answered without turning around. Harry's face broke into a large grin as he clutched the ball close to him. "I'm Harry!" he called out to Tom "Harry Potter!"

Tom's body seemed to tense up, and Harry thought for a moment that he might turn back. But slowly the man started to relax again "well then, Harry, it's an honor to meet you." and with that he was walking off again, this time with a slightly faster pace.

Harry frowned for a second before he heard the front door start to open and Mrs. Palmer voice coming through. "Now where is this boy who was threatening you eh? You boys ad' betta' not be pullin my leg! Ya know the consequences!" Harry decided quickly that he didn't want to stick around and made himself appropriately scarce.

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 Authors note: This is simply an idea that has been running through my head for years and that I finally decided to put down on paper. Do not expect regular updates. Do not expect this to be a Dark!Harry or a Powerful!Harry fic. Do not expect this to become Harry/Voldemort (because it will not)   
> All you can really expect terrible humor and awkward situations, mostly for Voldemort, and maybe a bit of introspection.


End file.
